


Account & Accountability

by orphan_account



Category: Discworld - Pratchett
Genre: Age of Sail, Alternate Universe - Historical, Gen, Historical, over 1000 words
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-05-06
Updated: 2007-05-06
Packaged: 2017-10-04 05:18:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A group of plucky young women join the fight against Napoleon, but what rewards can they reap for their daring?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Account & Accountability

**Author's Note:**

> Written at the suggestion of Floria Tosca.

They had become the joke of the month, a hundred cartoons and a thousand anecdotes, even immortalized in a rather inventive pornographic leaflet Polly had the misfortune to come by a week after the court martial had quietly dropped all charges against them. The Monstrous Regiment, they called them, a pun of sorts after an ancient political leaflet. Monsters they were considered, then, sideshow freaks and unnatural women - the six women who'd taken the King's shilling.

Polly felt lucky she was not in Portsmouth anymore. In London all she had to do was wear a dress and a hat and she could be as anonymous as the next girl who distinctly wasn't wearing trousers. Mal had it even better, as no-one had ever quite determined that she wasn't male, and had therefore decided she was. The rest of them would have to live with the consequences.

It was a miracle they'd been neither hanged nor jailed. Tonker and Lofty had taken the first chance to bolt. Polly was almost sure they'd gone to America, though they'd not left any message. She wished them well. Ying Yu had gone back to her family in Limehouse, and Igorina was still living in the General's quarter's with Wazzer - Alice. That left just Polly, still hanging back with her brother, a guest at Mal's townhouse.

Between herself and Paul they'd barely had enough money for the journey home, let alone a London inn as well, and she would have had to face the long journey on a post-coach on the very day they were released, if it were not for Mal. However a wellbred young lady had ever been given enough leave to keep her own rooms in London Polly could not conceive, until she learned that for Mal, life as a young woman had barely begun before she had chosen to live that of a young man instead. Her family had left her a great deal of money and she had no relative or guardian to stop her from doing whatever she pleased. Which was rather a lot - running off to join the army, supposedly on some strange money-making scheme - carrying on as a gentleman... Whatever the reasons for Mal's aberration, Polly was glad of it. She gave her a place to stay, with Paul as her chaperone (which was a joke and a half, all things considered).

For the past month, Polly had watched their meager means dwindle until the day came when they would have to either take their leave or root.

Polly was pacing the sitting room when she heard a coach pull up, signalling Mal's return from town. She hurried to the window, and sure enough there was Mal, clad in an exceptionally fine black cloak, climbing the few steps to her door. Polly drew back into the room.

Paul was painting two rooms away. She hadn't told him yet. She heard Mal exchanging a word with the valet downstairs, and a few minutes later she entered the room. She nodded to Polly, evidently pleased to see her, and threw her gloves on the counter.

'Well, old chap,' she said, 'it seems we did manage to scare up a treaty after all. It isn't in the papers yet, but this ridiculous spat with America seems finally to be drawing to a close.'

Polly wanted to ask her how she could possibly find out something like that before the papers did, but there was a more immediate matter at hand. 'I had best tell you immediately - Paul and I will leave for home as soon as possible. We are at the end of our means. The King Inn is entering the season same as the rest of Portsmouth, and I am sure it will need two more pairs of hands.'

'My dear...'

'Call me Polly, please.' Her temper flared. She was tense enough as it was. 'I must ask you to lend me a dress for a little while longer. I'll have it returned as soon as I can get to my own clothes again.'

Mal said nothing at first, but dropped her hat next to her gloves and poured a glass for herself. 'Sherry?'

'No, thank you,' said Polly, sinking into a chair. It was done. She'd have to tell Paul next, and then they'd be away and back home again, serving tables and bearing the publicity. Her reputation would have to be made a show to attract customers - there were too many inns in the town as it was. She was not looking forward to it.

'You'll be glad to see your father again, I'm sure,' said Mal, sitting in the opposite chair.

'Certainly,' said Polly. She wondered if he had married yet. Mrs Clambers would be a welcome help. If Betty made good of her promise, too, and with Paul back, things might be looking up for the King.

'It is a shame, though,' continued Mal. Polly looked up sharply. She could feel a point looming somewhere in the future of the conversation.

'You did do an excellent job of pretending to be something you're not,' continued Mal. 'That is a rare skill.'

'Most people wouldn't consider that a compliment.'

'In some situations, it's invaluable.'

'What is it, Mal?' she said testily. Having saved each other's lives meant, as far as she was concerned, never having to put up with evasive balderdash. 'I'm too tired for this.'

Mal seemed to consider her for an endless minute. Then she put down her glass, clearly coming to a decision.

'Let's review the recent past, shall we? Amuse me, old chap, and tell me if a pattern emerges. The army, having no end of foolish young men, ends up having a small squad of recruits made up entirely of women. Some of these are runaways who dashed off in the night out of a conveniently open window, after a day of brutal abuse at the hands of the good ladies of a Magdalene convent. Some, like Ying Yu, are inexplicably transferred from other squads, and some, such as myself, volunteer without any obvious motive. Now consider the possibility that these women are not there by chance.'

Polly's considered, and the implication made her head swim. 'Are you suggesting a plot to get us all in the right place at the right time? I can't believe it - there is no way anyone could engineer Paul's imprisonment and my sudden strange fancy. Not to mention that I had to practically blackmail Sgt Jackrum to sign me on.'

'You're quite right - you weren't a part of the plan. But there was a plan. Oh yes. I was very curious about you at first, but it seems you really were there by chance - a happy chance, as it turned out. I don't think we could have made it without your fast thinking at Biche. I myself certainly wouldn't have, after the incident with the sniper.' Mal gave a smile that was half a grimace and picked up her glass again.

'Flattered,' said Polly quickly, 'but the plan?'

'All these women were there for apparently different reasons, but they are together, and are discovered by the French to be women on the run instead of a real squad, a real threat. Do you see where I am going? There was more to it than that, but there you have the bare bones of it. Since these women are clearly no ladies it was only a matter of time before there was an indiscretion. I was meant to be the indiscretion, but as it turned out there were more than one, and the training had taken root more deeply than anyone had expected. Certainly more in Betty, God help us.' She laughed, but caught the disgusted look Polly shot at her.

'Now, before you get all huffy, Poll, do remember that none of you were meant to be hurt - more than any other young person who is foolish or desperate enough to sign up, at any rate. It's true that glory was not likely to come your way, but the risk of rape should have been low. One must risk all when one is a soldier, after all. And, in the end, the informant was dead, the papers were recovered, and here we all are safe and sound at home.'

'Except for Alice.'

'She's on the mend.'

'She won't ever walk again.'

'She will never face daily beatings again either, and she has a father to look after her now.'

'Still it is a rotten thing to do, whatever the results.'

Mal regarded her quietly. 'Maybe I was mistaken about you.'

Polly sat back in the resulting silence and thought. She had been arguing for the sake of arguing, but she thought about her arguments now, and Mal's, and she thought about England, and honour, and Napoleon. She thought about going home.

'Maybe you were,' she said quietly.

Mal got up, poured a glass of sherry, and offered it to Polly without asking. She drank it down in one gulp.

'We could use you. There's more of this kind of work left to be done. Think about it,' Mal said, 'but think quickly.'

The sherry warmed her, and she did think, standing up to pace the room. The day outside was turning to evening, and Mal quietly turned on the gaslamp. They could hear Paul going up the stairs, and, more faintly, the sounds of dinner being prepared in the kitchen downstairs.

'All right,' said Polly at last.

'Are you sure?'

'I'm mostly not sure about anything at all,' said Polly. 'I'm not sure how you are connected, what the politics involved are, how I would be expected to help, but I know I don't want to go home and be a joke and a barmaid for the rest of my life if there's something I can do to actually stop this goddamn nonsense of war.'

'It's a dangerous business, and the pay is not always phenomenal.'

'Well, I did sign up for the army once.'

Mal grinned, a quick sharp smile like a knife's blade in the night, and walked over to shake Polly's hand. 'Welcome to the fold, old chap.'

Polly smiled back ruefully. 'On one condition.'

'Oh, surely...'

'Somebody get me a goddamn pair of trousers.'


End file.
